Scars (And Subsequent Misunderstandings)
by viridiansky
Summary: No one knows exactly how the magic behind soul-marks works, but it is a rather irritable system. Soul-marks appear on the right wrist once someone's soulmate is born, but always, without fail, in some ancient language that would require an expert to decipher. Lavellan has deciphered his mark, but his soulmate seems blissfully unaware.


**A/N: A shamelessly self-indulgent soulmate AU fic. Crossposted from AO3.**

* * *

Scars (And Subsequent Misunderstandings)

* * *

"The situation is grim," Cassandra began, slamming a hand onto the table. She took a moment to glare out at the rag-tag group sitting in front of her before continuing, "And I am certain that one, or more, of you is to blame."

"Is this about how his Inquisitorialness has begun to spend most of his spare time at the Herald's Rest, drowning his sorrows?" Varric asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned back in his chair. "Because trust me, I want to know what's up with all that as much as you do. I wouldn't exactly describe the situation as 'grim', though."

Cullen scoffed, pacing behind Cassandra. "This is a waste of time. The Inquisitor is clearly just shaken up over the events at Haven. If somebody just went over and shook some sense into him…"

"It's been weeks since Haven, and this has started recently," Josephine objected. "I'm fairly certain this is about Clan Lavellan. They've been running into some troubles lately with nearby human settlements and the Inquisition has had to step in- he's probably simply worried."

Solas made a slight noise of disagreement. "The Inquisitor has never struck me as someone who would be affected to this degree about something to that effect. Perhaps unfortunately, he believes in his clan and its ability to pull itself out of difficult situations."

"It's obvious-" Cassandra said irritably, "-that one of you must have said or done something wrong. Perhaps it was the dem-"

"-spirit-" Solas interjected.

"-on. I see he hasn't made an appearance."

Varric shrugged. "We couldn't find the kid. Besides, while he can be a bit insensitive at times, the Inquisitor's pretty understanding of that."

"Leliana, you do have spies everywhere. Do you not know anything?" Blackwall asked gruffly.

Leliana, leaning against the back wall, shook her head. "Although my reach is extensive, I unfortunately haven't been able to determine the trigger to the Herald's sudden breakdown. I have agents working on it, however."

"I don't see why this is any of our business, yeah?" Sera piped up, her legs propped up on the table. "If the Herald wants to go off the deep end, it's his decision."

"Morale is dropping among the troops at Skyhold. And it's only been two days!" Cullen said in an exasperated tone. "We need to do something."

Iron Bull suddenly let out a chortle. "All you people and your theories, and not one of you thinks to ask the poor guy what's wrong? You're the worst bunch of gossipers I've ever met."

There was a moment of embarrassed silence.

"Well, that's rather presumptuous of you, isn't it, Qunari?" Dorian drawled, raising an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, I did in fact ask him if something was the matter. Today, in fact."

Iron Bull snorted. "And what did he say, 'Vint?"

"He glared at me, cast a barrier, and jumped off the railing onto Solas' desk," Dorian said mournfully. "I suppose it was an impressive way to exit, if rather disheartening for me."

"Judging from his reaction, you're to blame then," Cassandra said accusatorily, turning her gaze onto Dorian.

Dorian held up his hands in a placating way. "My dear Seeker, I have no idea what I could have done to make the Inquisitor act like this. If I did, I swear to you I would've done something to rectify the situation. It isn't a pleasant thing, seeing such a handsome face turn dark whenever I come into view. Though, that is unfortunately a rather common experience for me here in the South…"

"You were talking with him two nights ago, I recall," Solas spoke up suddenly, contemplatively. "That was when this whole issue began. What were you talking about?"

"Nothing of import." Dorian shrugged. "He wanted my help finding some books about Ancient Tevene. He said that he was interested in trying to decipher the exact workings of that Frost Rune we found in that Hinterlands cave the other day. I offered to help, he refused, I shrugged and let him be on his way. Lavellan is a fellow mage, after all. It's in his rights to do some private research. I'd be scandalized if he didn't take this opportunity to take advantage of the Inquisition's resources."

"Nothing else?" Cassandra said sharply. "This may be important."

"Well, he did come to me a few hours later to return the books. He asked me about Elvish before leaving." Dorian frowned. "Now that I think about it, he did seem rather dejected when he left. It could be because I told him that the Inquisition didn't have many books on Elvish?"

"I can get in contact with some of our noble allies," Josephine suggested. "It should be a simple enough task to procure some Elvish books."

"This is silly," Cullen said, visibly annoyed. "He is leading the Inquisition. He needs to act like it and not get worked up over a couple of books. I swear, I will go to the Herald's Rest right now and-"

"-no need," Iron Bull interrupted. "He won't be there. I talked to the boss yesterday. He said he just wanted a couple of days to forget everything and get over some things, but he'd get back to normal today."

Cassandra pinched her nose and let out a sigh. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier, Iron Bull?"

"You could've just asked the Inquisitor yourself," Iron Bull pointed out reasonably.

"Well!" Josephine said cheerfully. "If that's all over and done with, I think we can call this meeting to an end. Thank you for your time, everyone."

She twirled around and headed out of the room, Cullen and Leliana following soon after. Amidst some grumblings and mutterings, the rest of the room trickled out as well. Varric, however, lagged behind for a moment.

"Hey, Sparkler," Varric said suddenly.

Dorian paused and looked back, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Humor me for a second," Varric said, a slight smile on his face. "When Lavellan asked you about Elvish, was he asking you about Elvish books, or was he asking you about your Elvish skills?"

"Now that you mention it…" Dorian blinked, sounding surprised. "He did ask about my Elvish skills."

"And how are your Elvish skills?"

"Nothing impressive, but enough to know the alphabet and some pronunciations. Doing research into the arcane makes you quite familiar with more obscure languages."

Varric let out a snort.

"What?" Dorian asked, sounding irritated.

"I think I just figured out what has the Herald in such a snit." Varric replied, holding back a smile.

"Care to share with the class?" Dorian asked impatiently. "I'd rather like to know, considering that it's meant that he's avoided me like the plague for the last couple days."

"One more question," Varric said, placating. "I'm going to be a bit blunt. Is the name on your right wrist in Elvish?"

"What?" Dorian said sharply, taken off-guard. "Why? Wait…"

Varric waggled an eyebrow, a sly smile on his face.

"I… I don't know," Dorian finally confessed, quietly. "It's… well, it'd probably be simpler for you to just see."

"Woah woah, wait a second there," Varric said quickly. "You're a nice guy and all, but I just don't go for former Tevinter magisters, I'm afraid. Too much baggage."

"Tevinter Altus," Dorian corrected with a snort, before carefully unbuckling his right glove, sliding it off. Varric, unable to hold back his curiosity despite himself, leaned in to look. He let out a tight breath.

"Well, that's…" Varric trailed off, struck silent for once. "And you Tevinter say the Qunari are the barbaric ones."

"The Qunari do the same thing, actually," Dorian smiled bitterly. "Haven't you ever taken a glance at Iron Bull's wrist? I find it terribly ironic that the Tevinter elite do the same as the Qunari."

Dorian absent-mindedly ran his fingers over the long-since-healed mess of scars that covered his right wrist. Burn marks, mainly, though there were a few knife marks as well, careful to avoid the major veins.

"It's… problematic if petty things like romance and soulmates get in the way of more… favourable… pairings," Dorian explained in a clipped tone, finally sliding his glove back on. "Marks are allowed to remain just long enough for parents to determine whether the name is one from a respectable Tevinter family, and if it's not, it's destroyed."

"You know, you should really talk to the Herald about this," Varric advised. "Seriously."

"I know what you're trying to imply," Dorian sighed. "Tevinter names are written in Ancient Tevene. Elven names are written in Elvish. But you're wrong."

"And why's that?" Varric laughed good-naturedly. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened."

"People of the same gender can't be bonded," Dorian said firmly, sounding bitter again.

"The Champion of Kirkwall would beg to differ," Varric said dryly. "I have to say, I didn't expect you to have such weird views. Look, I don't know what they told you up in Tevinter, but down here, it- well, I suppose it's not exactly commonplace, but it happens. There's nothing wrong about it."

Dorian looked rather like someone had just told him that Corypheus had given up his aspirations to godhood and had instead decided to take up nug-wrangling in Orzammar.

"Look, there's a really easy way for all this to be resolved," Varric said reassuringly. "Go talk to a spirit healer in the mage tower. They're well-versed enough with healing scars, and soul-marks are literally attached to the soul. If your skin's healed well enough, it'll reappear, I'd bet."

"I…"

"You've left your family, haven't you?" Varric pointed out. "Even if you don't think you could possibly be bonded to our illustrious leader, don't you at least want to take this chance to finally know the name of your soulmate? Your other half? Your ale to your tankard? Your staff to your mag-"

"- I get the idea," Dorian said dryly, gesturing for Varric to stop. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try."

"That's all I ask, Sparkler." Varric grinned. "That's all I ask."

Dorian looked at Varric suspiciously. "Why are you so invested in this, anyways?"

"What can I say?" Varric said innocently. "I like seeing the people around me be happy."

"You aren't planning to break into the romance genre again, are you?" Dorian asked, still suspicious. "Because I swear, I tried to read Swords and Shields once and I think I physically gagged."

"No no, my endeavors into the romance genre are over and done with, no need to worry." Varric shooed Dorian away. "Go already. Who knows when the Inquisitor will fling himself off the balcony in his chambers in despair? The clock's a-ticking!"

Shaking his head in amusement, Dorian grudgingly left.

* * *

Lavellan opened the door to his chambers with a sigh. He had been rather immature for the past couple days, and he had paid for it in the form of Cullen's terrible mood- not to mention some of the Inner Circle prodding him with questions with... varying... levels of sensitivity.

He knew he had overreacted slightly, but he couldn't help it. It hadn't been particularly easy, having an obviously Tevinter mark in a Dalish clan. Unfortunately for him, the Dalish didn't believe in covering their marks, unlike most of the rest of Thedas- which meant that he was stuck between standing out because of a Tevinter mark and standing out because he covered his wrist. He had eventually got in the habit of covering his mark up with a glove, but by then most everyone in the clan- and in sister clans, for good measure- already knew about the 'flat-ear-in-making'.

The only person who had ever really believed that he would remain loyal to the clan was the Keeper, and look how badly he had betrayed him. As the Inquisitor, there was no way that he could just up and return to Clan Lavellan anymore. And the worst thing was, he didn't even know whether he wanted to. He had his friends and family in the clan, but he knew that most looked down on him. That hadn't been the most pleasant experience.

So when he finally managed to figure out just what the words on his wrist said- after years of staring and wondering and cursing and crying- he understandably had mixed feelings. But he had come to terms with it soon enough- he would be lying if he hadn't already been terribly drawn towards…

…towards…

It didn't matter. He was all focused now. Nope, no more distractions from stupid Tevinter mages who could read Elvish but apparently had no interest in the Herald of Andraste or a knife-ear or a mage-

\- okay, perhaps he was being slightly unfair. At the very least, he wouldn't be prejudiced against mages. And it wasn't as if the aforementioned stupid Tevinter mage had any issues with Solas, who was also an Elvhen apostate.

It must be the Herald of Andraste thing then. Great. Not only did the glowing green mark on his hand make him the main target for a megalomaniac darkspawn magister, it also decided to apparently take on cock-blocking activities as a side job.

Lavellan trudged up the last few steps up into his room, feeling rather sorry for himself all the way.

He was so pathetic.

"Well, don't you look like someone kicked your dog?"

Lavellan froze half-way through a step. He slowly turned towards the source of the voice.

"Don't look so shocked," Dorian said dryly, leaning against the window with a sly grin. He winked. "I apologize for breaking into your quarters, but in my defense, you don't lock your door. You should really start doing that, by the way. There's no shortage of people who'd love to attack the Inquisitor."

He knew he was staring. He couldn't help it. Lavellan swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

"You- why- why are you here?" he said lamely, finally taking a step towards Dorian.

"Did you know-" Dorian said, in a falsely casual tone. "- it's normal practice among the Tevinter elite to scar off soulmate marks so badly they're completely illegible?"

Lavellan froze again, his mouth dropping half-open. Composing himself after a few seconds, he gave a small cough.

"I- I see," Lavellan said mildly. He desperately shoved down that glowing feeling of hope that threatened to burst out from his heart. For all he knew, Dorian Pavus was an incredibly common name in the Tevinter Imperium.

"I went to visit a spirit healer in the mage tower today," Dorian said, in the same casual tone. "You know, I really can't believe that there's four mages in your inner circle and none of us were blessed with the ability to perform the simplest healing spell. You should really grab a spirit healer to join our ranks sometime, Lavellan."

"There's not many spirit healers that would last more than a few seconds in combat, unfortunately," Lavellan explained, latching onto the change in topic. "We do well enough with healing potions and barriers, anyhow."

"I suppose," Dorian sighed. "It's just not the same, though. Anyways, where was I? Ah, yes, the spirit healer."

Lavellan swallowed again.

"Yes, well, I went to the healer. Varric made a good little point you see- he pointed out that a good spirit healer could deal with the scars and allow me to read my mark properly. And to my luck, there was indeed a spirit healer of that capability in the tower! Healed my wrist right up, looking all horrified as she did so. There's still a few scars left, but not enough to leave my mark illegible."

Dorian paused.

"And- what did it say?" Lavellan asked, trying and failing to hold back his desperate curiosity.

"Well, I'm not the most fluent in written Elvish. Only the Dalish are, really." Dorian shrugged. "I do believe one of the characters means 'time'? Or perhaps 'tomorrow'. Elvish is so dependent on context. The last name, it seems to be-"

Something suddenly snapped in Lavellan's head.

"- Dorian." Lavellan cut in sweetly. He swiftly closed the gap between them, stopping uncomfortably- comfortably?- close. "You're being quite rude."

"I-" It was Dorian's turn to be flustered. He blinked twice, staring down at Lavellan. "That is-"

"I'm going to kiss you now," Lavellan informed him, his hand curling around Dorian's right wrist, which, happily, Dorian had left uncovered. He rubbed soft circles onto his mark. "You have twenty seconds to refuse."

"Twenty seconds!" Dorian laughed, breaking himself out of his fluster. He threaded his hand into Lavellan's hair. "No, Inquisitor, that just won't do."

Still smiling, Dorian leaned in to press his lips against Lavellan's, and the torrent of hope that Lavellan had been holding back finally broke free.

* * *

"I just wanted to thank you," Varric said in an off-hand tone to Dorian the next day, in Skyhold's library.

"Thank me?" Dorian let out a cheerful laugh, turning away from the bookshelves to face the dwarf. "Isn't that my line?"

"Well, you just won me five sovereigns and fifty silvers," Varric explained with a smug grin. "Everyone else was just so sure you'd end up hooking up five months from now or two weeks before, and well, let's just say I was much more accurate."

Dorian couldn't bring himself to be annoyed about his acquaintances betting on his and the Inquisitor's love life at the moment, and the dwarf knew that too, that sly little rogue.

He settled for shaking his head slightly in judgement.

"Really though," Dorian said quietly, a slight smile on his face. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Sparkler," Varric replied, smiling right back. "What can I say, I'm a natural-born matchmaker."

Dorian couldn't help but scoff in amusement at that line. The dwarf seemed to have the tendency to incite that reaction from him.

"Dorian!"

He looked up towards Lavellan, who was heading towards him from the staircase.

"I'll leave you two to it, then," Varric said cheerfully, giving them a jaunty little wave. "Remember to put a sock on the doorknob!"

Lavellan, adorably, actually flushed. Dorian's face may or may not have felt slightly hot at the moment as well.

"Always a sight for sore eyes," Dorian said, smiling, turning to the Inquisitor. "Something you need?"

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed!**


End file.
